


Gemini

by yellow_crayon



Series: Constellations [1]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alpha Erik, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Bottom T'Challa (Marvel), Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13931091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yellow_crayon/pseuds/yellow_crayon
Summary: So this is the cousin his old man had gushed on and on about. Erik has to admit, T’Challa is a hell lot prettier than he’d imagined, but overall, he’s not very impressed. He doesn’t see Wakanda’s next king in T'Challa, he sees a soft, doe-eyed omega who’s grown up sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, someone Erik can easily defeat.(Prequel to 'Orion')





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Близнецы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14367858) by [kotokoshka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotokoshka/pseuds/kotokoshka)



> Ha, why do I do this? So here's the short prequel that everyone wanted for Orion. 
> 
> Timeline is Civil War, a few days before the UN Accord meeting in Vienna. T'Chaka does not recognize Erik right now. 
> 
> Drop me a comment?

Erik spots Linda immediately when he steps into the nightclub. She’s standing by the bar and wearing that slinky little red dress Erik likes, the one that shows off half of her cleavage and long thighs.

“Hey Beautiful,” He murmurs in her ear and puts a hand on the small of her back.

“Erik, good to see you.” This close, he can see the way her pulse quickens and pupils dilate at the sight of him. Erik grins and accepts the drink slid his way.

“So you wanted to tell me about a job offer?” He cuts straight to the chase, not wanting to waste more time than he needs in this place.

“We haven’t seen each other in years and that’s the first thing out of your mouth?” She frowns slightly, smile fading at his bluntness.

_Women and their need for useless chitchat._

He suppresses the rising impatience, leans close and breathes against her lips, “Ok then. Wanna fuck?”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my god,” Linda groans and stretches in the sheets, “I missed this, Erik.”

“You mean you missed my dick,” He smirks, rolling onto his side to trail fingers against the soft silky skin of her inner thigh.

“That too,” Linda sighs, and when she looks up at him, her smile is wistful, “how have you been? You disappeared without a word last time.”

“Something came up,” Erik said dismissively, “so about that job…”

“Right, you know how I work for a private security company that offer protective services to world leaders?”

“Yeah, y’all do shit for ‘em UN meetings. I remember.”

“Well, we have another UN job coming up, a delegation from Africa is coming for the first time in I don’t know, a long-ass time, and it’s a pretty big deal,” Linda admits. “But we’ve become a little short-staffed in the past few months.”

“What do you mean?” Erik asks.

“A few of them popped off the grid, and three turned up dead,” She grimaces, “My boss suspects it’s the Russians.”

_It’s not the Russians. He’s the one that’s been killing them off._

Erik frowns, “your people messin’ with Russians?”

“Well, Ed suspects,” She shrugs before reaching out shyly to tangle her fingers in his, “so…that means we need new agents, Erik, and I thought of you. What do you say? I can put in a recommendation for you.”

“Where did you say they’re from? The protective detail,” He asks.

“Wakanda, I think,” Linda frowns, "I’ve never heard of them. Have you?”

“Nah,” Erik says, “probably some small third-world country. Round three?”

 

* * *

 

“Baba, this is insane, not bringing the Dora with us,” T’Challa hisses at his father for the umpteenth time.

T’Chaka waves a dismissive hand, “they will not fit in, and you know Okoye refuses to wear another wig.”

“Their purpose is not to fit in, Baba,” He insists, “their purpose is to protect you.”

“T’Challa, my sweet boy, nothing will go wrong,” His father puts a warm dry palm over T’Challa’s cheek, “besides, I have you, don’t I?”

He sighs and returns the smile, “yes, Baba. But—”

“Hush child, no more words,” His father says, “I need to read over the Accords one more time before the security team arrives.”

“What security team?” T’Challa asks.

“You will see when we land, my son,” T’Chaka says.

 

* * *

 

As a part of their disguise, they had flown in a private jet sanctioned by the UN to pick them up in Abuja, and from there they would fly to Vienna for the conference. T’Challa had forgotten how the rest of the world travelled by air, and the jet had been an uncomfortable reminder of how mundane the technology was compared to Wakanda.

Shuri’s hormone-suppressant pills are not helping either. She had given him a little packet with enough to last a year, but he doesn’t know if it is the turbulence or the pills that are making him feel faintly ill. Nonetheless, T’Challa is grateful when their plane lands on the tarmac and he can finally be on the ground again.

There’s a group of black-suited alphas and one female beta waiting for them when the doors open. T’Challa sees the wires in their ears and the signature sunglasses.

“Why do they all dress like they are going to a funeral?” He leans over and complains in his baba’s ear.

“Why are our guards all bald?” T’Chaka returns, “do not ask silly questions, my boy.”

“That is not a silly question, Baba. Why are the Dora all bald?” He persists as he follows his father down the steps.

“Your Majesty,” The ginger-haired man in front calls out, “welcome to Vienna. We are your assigned security detail. For the next week, our sole duty is to keep you and your son safe for this UN meeting.” He points to himself, “I’m Ed, this is Linda, John, Travis, Charlie, and Erik.”

“What’s up,” Erik, the only alpha with dark skin and dreads tied back into a top knot, pulls his sunglasses down a fraction and winks at T’Challa.

The woman clears her throat and elbows him in the side. T’Challa smiles a little when he returns the gesture behind Ed’s back and sticks his tongue out at her. He feels a faint flush color his cheeks when the weight of the man’s dark gold eyes settle back on him with a strangely exhilarating intensity.

“If you will follow me,” Ed is saying to T’Chaka, but T’Challa’s attention keeps wandering back to Erik, who has fallen into step beside him, their shoulders close enough to touch.

“So, what’s it like to be a prince, kitten?” He asks, turning to flash T’Challa a smirk. The nickname makes T’Challa’s heart skip a beat and he almost misses the car. Erik stops him with a hand to his chest, “whoa, easy there. You tryin' to walk to the hotel on foot, sweetheart?”

The hand that steals his breath away moves to the small of his back, and T’Challa catches a brief glimpse of a raised scar on the back of Erik’s wrist as the alpha pulls open the door to the Bentley and gives the young prince a gentle nudge inside.

“Go on,” He says, breath tickling the base of T’Challa’s neck as he bends down to peer at him, “don’t forget to fasten your seatbelt, your highness.”

“T’Challa,” T’Challa blurts out, feeling his face grow hot as he stumbles over the words, “m-my name.”

“Well, T’Challa,” the handsome alpha smiles, “I’ll be in the car behind yours. See you in twenty.”

T’Challa watches as Erik slams the car door and straightens to speak with the woman. He nods and makes a ‘good-to-go’ hand gesture to their driver and the car starts to move smoothly down the tarmac.

“Very good-looking, no?” T’Chaka nudges his son with a teasing glimmer in his gentle gaze and T’Challa feels his blush return with a vengeance.

“Baba, _stop it_.”

His father chuckles and pats him on the back of the hand, “ah, to be young and in love.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, here's the second chapter! Very plot-heavy. The porking will be in the last chapter, in case that wasn't obvious. 
> 
> PS. Erik is NOT a nice man in this fic. I didn't want him too nice or it would be too OOC. By the end of 'Orion' he's obviously changed a bit, but now, he is not a good guy. Also, T'Challa isn't as authoritative now as he is after his dad dies. 
> 
> PPS. The Romanov/T'Challa dialogue is from CW.

There is something about Erik that makes a deep dormant part of T’Challa positively ache with want. No other man or woman in the past has evoked such a strong reaction in him before. T'Challa doesn’t understand the maddening urge to keep the alpha’s attention focused solely on him, nor does he comprehend the thrill of satisfaction that comes with Erik’s gaze landing on the curve of his ass beneath the expensive cut of the designer suit when the alpha moves into his assigned position behind the royal party as soon as they enter the lavish hotel lobby.

Erik does his job with a sort of effortless grace that comes with, T’Challa presumes, years of practice in the military. He has the strange urge to get to know him better. He wants to pull the alpha aside for a drink, wants to—

“T’Challa,” T’Chaka’s voice calling his name snaps the young prince out of his daydream, and T’Challa turns to find his father and the rest of their protective detail staring at him with strange expressions on their faces.

“Our room is here, son,” T’Chaka points to the doorway he is standing beside, and T'Challa feels his face heat up as he quickly walks back to join them.

“You do that often? Just wander off on your own?” Erik grins at him when Ed unlocks the door with a swipe card and moves in to clear the room.

“I gotta put a leash on ya if it’s gonna make my job more difficult,” He jokes quietly in T’Challa’s ear as he gives the prince a gentle push toward the open door. T’Challa's feet move on autopilot, but Erik does not remove his hand from the small of his back even as Ed and Charlie guides them through standard evacuation procedures. T’Challa hopes nothing unexpected happens because most of it flies straight over his head. He can barely hear past the loud pounding of his heart in his ears and the distracting sensation of Erik’s thumb rubbing gentle circles against his spine.

 

* * *

 

“You’re laying it on thick with the prince,” Linda says the moment they are alone in their shared room a few floors down. It’s a lot less fancy than the penthouse suite T’Chaka and his son are staying in, but Erik’s slept in worse places. He unzips his single duffle bag and pulls out a plain toothbrush and toothpaste. There are three more hours before he and Travis are scheduled to replace Ed and Charlie for protective duty.

“I don’t know what you mean, babe,” Erik drawls, heading to the bathroom after pulling off his stiff tie and tossing it carelessly onto the bed. He hates wearing suits. They’re always so constricting around his shoulders.

“You were clearly flirting with him, Stevens,” Linda accuses, folding her arms over her chest. Erik sees the unhappy expression on her face before he shuts the bathroom door with his foot and makes his way to the small sink.

“You jealous, Lin?” He yells out to her, “I thought we had an arrangement.”

There’s silence for a while outside. Erik squeezes a dollop of toothpaste onto the brush and stuffs into his mouth. He hears Linda heave a muffled sigh and say, “yeah, I remember.”

Erik spits out the suds and rinses his mouth clean. He splashes some cold water over his face and takes a few measured breathes. His father’s ring feels like a searing hot brand against his sternum. Erik pulls it out by the chain and inspects the engravings on the band of vibranium. They are the same exact markings on the ring he saw around King T’Chaka’s finger today.

_I finally found you, Uncle. You didn’t even fuckin' recognize me, you old fool._

His clenched fingers dig pinpoints of pain into the flesh of his palm. Erik forces them to relax, and after one last look into the mirror, he pulls the silver chain carefully off his neck and stuffs into a secure side pocket in his duffle. He cannot let T’Chaka see it, not while he’s pretending to be a member of their security detail. The wide-eyed little princeling at T’Chaka’s side had not been a part of Erik’s plan, but with the way things are turning out, T’Challa being here might actually make it easier for him to get rid of T’Chaka.

 _I’ll make sure he pays for what he did to you, pop,_ Erik thinks as he pulls open the door to the bathroom to find Linda lounging in her underwear on the bed, her black lacy bra thrown carelessly on the floor.

He lifts an eyebrow and whistles under his breath, “ _damn,_ that's hot.”

“Come here, soldier,” She crooks a finger at him with a smirk.

“I just brushed my teeth, babe,” He murmurs, settling between her spread thighs.

“Even better,” Linda purrs.

 

* * *

 

There are three free days before the Accords meeting, and while T’Challa enjoys his baba’s company, he is also curious about the vibrant culture and history of Vienna. When he brings up the idea of visiting the museums and concert halls on the second day, T’Chaka smiles knowingly and beckons their head of security over. Twenty minutes later, there’s a polite knock and the alpha opens the door of their penthouse suite to reveal Erik standing there in a jean jacket thrown over a white shirt and worn combat boots. He has a pair of peach-colored aviators perched atop his head and a whole bunch of bracelets on one wrist. He looks like one of those Instagram models Shuri keeps showing T’Challa pictures of.

“Looking good, Stevens, you’ll definitely blend in with the other college students here on spring break,” the other agent on duty whistles. Erik smirks and bumps fists with him as he strides inside.

“So, tour of the museums, huh?” He flashes T’Challa a grin thst shows off gold-capped canines, “I happened to have aced my European History class back in college.”

“Baba, this is…” T’Challa bites his lip helplessly, “are you sure you do not need me here?”

“Go,” T’Chaka winks fondly at his blushing son, “I can finally get some work done around here with you out of the room.”

“Not to worry, I'll keep an eye on ‘im, your Kingliness,” Erik says.

“Where did you say you were from, Erik?” T’Chaka asks out of the blue as he accompanies his son to the doorway.

“State side, red white ’n blue, born and raised,” The alpha answers casually.

“Right,” The king murmurs with a frown.

“You ready to go, Prince T’Challa?” Erik asks, knocking his aviators down over his eyes.

“Yes,” T’Challa answers quickly. He turns to his clearly distracted father, “are you alright, Baba?”

“Of course, son,” T’Chaka smiles and kisses T’Challa’s forehead. “Have fun.”

 

* * *

 

They go through a few of the most iconic museums in the city. The duo get a tour guide in the first one, and she is taken aback by Erik’s extensive knowledge of their paintings and artifacts. He knows she'd automatically dismissed him for the intelligent type on sight. T’Challa refuses the offered tour services in the second museum they visit, and that gesture alone almost makes Erik like him on principle.

Without the annoying chatter from the guide, their pace becomes more sedated. T’Challa listens intently to Erik’s words and occasionally offers some intelligent insight of his own. It’s not the worst museum experience Erik’s had in the past, and he finds himself studying the soft-spoken prince walking gracefully at his side. He can tell T’Challa is an omega despite the neutral scents around him. The way the man had reacted when Erik had leaned in close that first time was a dead giveaway.

_“He is a kind boy, your cousin. Very smart, too,” His father used to say every time he received a letter from ‘back home’, “T’Chaka tells me he has grown taller.”_

_“Not taller than me,” Erik would say, huffing at N’Jobu’s praise for some faceless cousin in Wakanda._

_“No, never taller than my boy,” His father would laugh and sweep little Erik up into a warm bear hug, “but I promise you, Erik, when you meet him, you will come to love T’Challa, just as I love my brother.”_

So this is the cousin his old man had gushed on and on about. Erik has to admit, T’Challa is a hell lot prettier than he’d imagined, but overall, he’s not very impressed. He doesn’t see Wakanda’s next king in T'Challa, he sees a soft, doe-eyed omega who’s grown up sheltered from the harsh realities of the world, someone Erik can easily defeat.

“Shall we get something to eat?” T’Challa puts a hand on Erik’s forearm and asks in that gentle cultured voice.

He clears his throat and shrugs, “sure, nowhere fancy I hope. I doubt them white folks’ll let me in wearin’ this.” Erik gestures to the holes in his jeans.

“I like your pants,” T’Challa smiles, “but no, I was not thinking of something fancy.”

“Street food, then?” Erik asks, “If you get food poisoning, I’mma lose my job, kitten.”

“Then, lets hope I don’t,” T’Challa surprises him by saying.

“Ok,” He lifts a brow, “adventurous, I like that.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they get out of the opera theater, it is past nine in the evening, but Erik is feeling pretty energized despite the long day. He had nodded off a few times during the long-ass opera, and T’Challa had given up on poking him awake past the fourth movement.

“That was a very classic piece,” T’Challa says as they make their way down the well-lit street along with other opera-goers.

“I thought it was boring as fuck,” Erik replies, ignoring the dirty looks a plump old woman dressed in an expensive-looking fur coat is giving him. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over T’Challa’s shoulders when he catches the omega shivering from the cold. He might despise T’Challa’s father, but N’Jobu had raised him to be a gentleman.

“I could tell, your snores were very distracting,” T’Challa smiles. His cheeks are flushed when he adds in a much smaller voice, “thank you for the coat, Erik.”

“Yeah well, I hope that’s not the only thing you find distracting about me,” The alpha grins and wraps an arm around T’Challa’s waist. “Let’s get you back to the hotel, your highness. I got Linda waitin' with the car the next street down.”

“It’s not far, I was hoping we could walk back…” T’Challa says, averting his gaze.

Erik pauses in his steps.

“If it’s too much trouble for you, we can just—” T’Challa starts.

“Nah, we can walk,” Erik shrugs, “just gotta call Lin to cancel the car.”

“You seem to be very good friends,” T’Challa remarks when Erik hangs up the phone. He sounds a little crestfallen, much to Erik’s amusement.

“We go way back,” He admits, “same assault team in Iraq. I was her captain.”

“Iraq?” T’Challa asks. The lights reflected in his brown eyes are bright like specks of gold, and Erik suddenly has the maddening urge to lean over and kiss his cousin.

“I was a SEAL,” Erik says, taking a small step back to clear his head.

“I see.”

They walk in comfortable silence for a while, but T’Challa cannot seem to stop thinking back to the little intimate details between Erik and Linda. He knows he does not have the right to be jealous, but a small part of him is.

Erik lets out a whistle at his side and jogs over to pick something up from the ground. T’Challa sees it is a basketball when the alpha laughs and tosses it up into the air, “man, you know this is a rich, white-ass country when the kids just leave their balls lyin’ out here on the courts like this. Back home, I’d never see it again if I left mine outside.”

“You used to play?” T’Challa asks, following him over to the empty basketball court.

“Yeah, I used to shoot hoops, was really good at it, too,” Erik dribbles the ball with the easy fluidity of someone who has grown up playing the sport. “Got a scholarship offer to play college ball when I was fifteen.”

“Did you take it?” T’Challa asks.

“Nope, joined the Navy after USNA and MIT,” Erik shoulders past him and throws the ball. They both watch in silence as it sails through the air in a perfect arc and lands in the hoop without touching the rim. The alpha smirks, “Yup, I still got it.”

“Why didn’t you take the offer?” T’Challa persists, bending down to pick up the worn basketball when it rolls over to him.

“'Cause I had other plans,” Erik shrugs and slaps the ball out of T’Challa’s hands, “‘sides, if I was meant to play ball, my daddy would’ve named me after Michael Jordan or something.”

“Michael Jordan, the basketball player?”

“No, Michael Jordan the oil painter, of course the basketball player, who else?” Erik rolls his eyes, “you ever watch the NBA, kitten?”

“I’ve seen a few matches,” T’Challa shrugs.

“You know how to play?” Erik prompts.

“I know how to toss a ball into a hoop, if that is what you are asking,” T’Challa crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to ogle the alpha’s thick biceps as Erik throws another effortless three-pointer.

“Aight, wanna play?” He asks, wandering over to T’Challa with a mischievous gleam in his golden eyes. Erik hands the ball over, “I'll let you have the first shot.”

“Nice form,” He remarks when T’Challa tosses the ball into the hoop. “Up for the real thing now?”

Of course he is no match against Erik, who apparently does not play according to the rules. When T’Challa calls him out on it, the alpha merely laughs, “this is streetball, ain’t nobody playin’ in the NBA out here. You wanna win, you gotta earn it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” He bites out irritably and makes a wild swipe at Erik who dodges with a laugh.

“Distract me and steal the ball, pretty thing,” Erik suggests and makes another shot. T’Challa manages to hold onto the ball for almost a full ten seconds before Erik knocks it out of his hands again with that infuriating smile on his lips. T’Challa wants to punch it off his face, or better yet—

Erik obviously does not expect T'Challa to surge forward and smash his lips against his, because the alpha promptly drops the basketball in surprise. T’Challa dances away from him, grabs the ball and throws it into the hoop.

Six to two. Finally.

“That’s cheatin', kitten,” Erik calls lazily, not bothering to stop him when he scores again. And again.

“I thought you said we weren’t playing by NBA rules,” T’Challa shoots back with a bright smile. “Besides, you told me to distract you.”

“I did say that,” Erik is watching him with hooded eyes when T’Challa sets the ball down on the ground and approaches him with deliberately slow steps. His gaze flickers down to T’Challa’s lips.

“I’ll let you win if you do that again,” Erik breathes, breaking the charged silence between them.

“Yeah?” T’Challa whispers back, his own eyes settling on the alpha’s mouth as he feels Erik’s hands wrap around his waist and draw him close. “I don’t need you to ‘let’ me win, I will take the victory myself.”

“I’m sure you will, sweetheart,” Erik murmurs against his lips, and T’Challa sighs as he opens his mouth, fingers reaching up to curl in the man’s hair.

 

* * *

 

“Whoa, he did what?” Travis splutters.

“Hey, he kissed me first, what was I supposed to do, man?” Erik shrugs, motioning for the bartender to bring them more shots. It’s the night before the UN conference and the guys are out barhopping behind Ed’s back. Linda told him earlier that it was a tradition of sorts in their team. “I didn’t know if refusing would be a capital offense or something in his country, you know.”

“You’re so full of shit, Stevens,” Travis laughs, taking a shot of vodka and spilling half of it over his sleeve. He leans his weight into Erik’s side and whispers gleefully, “you just want to fuck him. At least have the decency to admit it.”

“Would you blame me?” He shrugs, and the other drunk alpha laughs.

“Nah, we wouldn’t blame you, not with that fine piece of ass,” John smirks, elbowing Erik, “bet he’s a screamer in bed, the quiet ones always are.”

“I’ll let you know after tomorrow night,” Erik bumps his beer against the other man’s. The cocky words make them erupt in laughter again.

By the time they stumble back to the hotel, Erik is completely wasted and Linda has already fallen asleep. He’s half-hard when he gets into the hot shower, and when Erik fists his cock, it is T’Challa’s face that comes to mind.

 

* * *

 

“I suppose neither of us is used to the spotlight.”

The Black Widow whirls around and smiles at the sight of T’Challa, “Well, it’s not always so flattering.”

“You seem to be doing well so far. Considering your last visit to Capitol Hill, I would not think you would be comfortable with this crowd,” He glances around at the settling UN members.

“I thought you approved of the Accords,” Romanov reminds, that polite smile still on her face.

“I do,” T’Challa says, “it is the politics I dislike. Two people in a room can accomplish more than a hundred.”

“Unless you want to move a piano,” T’Chaka’s voice says from behind and they both turn to smile at the king.

“Baba,” T’Challa murmurs, inclining his head.

“Agent Romanov,” T’Chaka greets.

The primitive phone T’Challa had received from Shuri as a part of his disguise pings in his pocket. The prince pulls it out to see a text from Erik.

**_We’re all set. Covering south entrance parking. Hope your meeting’s not too boring._ **

He feels a thrill of warmth at the words and writes back quickly:

**_We are about to start. I snore quietly unlike you._ **

Erik’s response makes him smile.

**_We’re a match made in heaven then kitten :)_ **

“T’Challa,” His father calls his name, “what are you smiling at, my boy?”

He feels his cheeks heat up as Agent Romanov looks over with interest. “Nothing, baba.”

“For a man who disapproves of diplomacy, you are getting quite good at it,” T’Chaka cups his cheek with a warm dry palm. “I am so very proud, son.”

“Thank you,” T’Challa takes his father’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Go sit, the meeting is about to begin,” T’Chaka says, “but afterwards, I have something that I need to talk to you about, T’Challa.”

“Yes, baba,” T’Challa gives his father’s hand one last squeeze and lets go.

 

* * *

 

A cable company van had parked itself across the street from where Erik was positioned at the south entrance to the parking garage. Since they were here on private protective detail, their assignments had been remote, unlike the other UN security. Erik doesn’t expect he’ll run into any trouble.

One of the cable guys, dressed in a worn coat with a black cap pulled low over his eyes, heads over to their building instead of into the one across the street like his companions. He’s got a mid-sized box tucked under one arm. His walk is what draws Erik’s attention. It reminds the alpha of a Russian KGB agent he’d had the misfortune of meeting a long time ago.

“Hey you, stop,” The alpha says. The man ignores him and keeps walking closer. Erik pulls his weapon. “I said stop, or I’ll shoot. Take your left hand out of your pocket, nice and slow.”

The stranger hesitates for a second before complying. He’s wearing dark work gloves. Erik approaches on cautious feet and grabs the man’s arm. His sleeve rides up a few inches to reveal an old faded scar on the inside of his wrist. Erik had read about it somewhere during his time at Annapolis that high-ranking intelligence officers in European militaries used to surgically remove their scent glands so as not to interfere with their jobs. The man in front of him lacks any gender-identifying scents.

He glances at the plain brown parcel under his other arm and says, “I’m guessin’ that ain’t a birthday gift you’re deliverin’.”

The pair of eyes from under the cap are completely devoid of any emotions.

“You tryin’ to get rid of somebody in this building?” Erik asks. He’s not surprised that he receives no reply.

"Let me guess, it's the delegation that’s scheduled to speak in about,” He checks his watch, “four minutes.”

Still nothing.

“Everything ok on your end, Erik?”

The diminutive brunet man does not react to the sound of Linda's tinny voice echoing from the headset. Erik sees no fear in his placid gaze. The alpha keeps his eyes on the man as he lifts a hand to the mic at his throat, turns it on and says, “yeah, all clear on my end, Linda.”

The man’s pale lips twitch a little at the unexpected words. He’s studying Erik with mild curiosity now.

“Copy that,” Linda says and turns off her mic.

“Better not miss, white boy,” Erik drawls. He lets go of the stranger’s arm, takes a step back, and puts his gun back in its holster.

“I won’t,” The man opens his mouth for the first time. The accent is distinctly European.

Thirty minutes after the massive explosion takes out half of the UN building, Erik finds T’Challa among the sobbing evacuees, seated alone on a park bench bloodied and disoriented. By then, his uncle is long dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, T'Chaka suspected Erik was his nephew. He just didn't have time to verify.
> 
> Also, yes, that was Zemo pretending to be Bucky.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is the end of the prequel! 
> 
> T'Challa wanted to see Erik one last time before he went back to Wakanda.
> 
> Enjoy and drop me a comment or kudos if you liked it!

In all the chaos, it is not hard to slip past security and doctor the footage so that the tapes only showed the mystery bomber. Erik didn’t spend two years at MIT for nothing. T’Challa’s face reveals nothing when the Vienna police shows him the image of the suspect. All he does is request a phone call in an impressively steady voice. T’Challa’s back is ramrod straight and as Erik watches the young prince leave, it finally hits him that his uncle is dead. He would’ve liked to have done it himself, but Erik is not one to give up an opportunity when it presents itself.

“Where do you think you’re going?” A hand grabs Erik by the arm, stopping the alpha in his tracks. He turns to see Linda’s boss scowling at him, the right side of his face a mess of scratches and burns.

“We’re done, aren’t we?” Erik gestures at the closed door where T’Challa had left with the Vienna police.

“We are done when the client dismisses our services, Stevens,” Ed hisses, green eyes narrowed. Erik jerks his arm out of the man’s hold and smoothes down his own rumpled suit.

“Fine, where’s the rest of the team?” He asks cooly.

“John and Trav didn’t make it out of the building collapse,” The red-haired alpha says after a pause.

“I’m sorry,” Erik says. He had liked Travis.

Ed exhales, “just…keep an eye on the prince, alright?”

“Will do,” He replies, clapping the other alpha on the shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Erik finds T’Challa standing alone on the balcony overlooking the city. The setting sun paints the windows of neighboring buildings a liquid orange-gold color.

“You’d think sunsets would look the same everywhere, but they’re not. It’s different in every corner of the world that I’ve been to so far,” He breaks the silence first and comes to a stop beside the prince. T’Challa does not give any outward reaction to Erik’s presence.

“You know, my old man died when I was seven,” Erik doesn’t know why he shares this with T’Challa, but he keeps going. “I found ‘im dead on floor of our apartment. Back then, we had none of this fancy surveillance shit.”

“How did he die?” T’Challa finally asks, turning to look at him for the first time. The tear tracks on his cheeks glisten like silver under the dying light of the sun, and Erik is suddenly hit with the fierce impulse to protect the little prince he’s vowed to loath along with T'Chaka.

He clears his throat and lies, “he was shot in the chest. We lived in a rough neighborhood.”

“Did you ever find out who?” T’Challa asks.

“Yeah,” Erik murmurs, “someone my daddy loved and trusted.”

“I’m sorry, Erik,” T’Challa whispers and takes the alpha’s left hand. He lifts it to his lips and brushes a kiss over the rough skin of Erik’s knuckles. “Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one comforting you, sweetheart?” He asks, pulling away. The phantom touch of T’Challa’s lips feels like a hot brand on the back of his hand.

“I do not need comfort,” The prince says quietly, “I want revenge.”

“Oh?”

“I am going to find the Winter Soldier and kill him for what he has done,” T’Challa vows.

“And how are you going to do that?” Erik asks.

“I have my ways,” T’Challa turns those determined brown eyes on him. “Wakandan guards will be here soon to make arrangements for my father’s funeral. Coming to this UN conference was a mistake, but meeting you was not.”

“So this is goodbye, then?” Erik asks when T’Challa cups his cheek.

“For now,” T’Challa breathes, pressing their foreheads together.

 

* * *

 

The media end up calling the whole Vienna debacle and the shit in that airport in Germany the ‘Civil War’ between the supers, but by that time, Erik is already back in the States and dealing with the next protective detail with another team Ed has set up. He’s still got the thing with Linda. Both of them are too paranoid to use some random hookup app or find a stranger in the street to fuck, what with the amount of enemies they’ve made over the years. Erik occasionally dreams about T’Challa, about making the omega prince cry for a whole different reason. It’s frustrating, but he figures it’s nothing a bit of killing and fucking won’t solve.

He’s packing his bags for a trip to Paris when he feels the presence behind his back. Erik’s first reaction is to reach for the gun in his duffle, but when he hears that familiar voice, the soldier part of his brain quickly assesses the situation and abandons the gun in favor of tugging his father’s ring off his neck. Erik slips it beneath the neat stack of shirts and turns to face the dark silhouette standing in the kitchen of the hotel room he’s staying in.

“You came back.” It is less of a question and more of an observation. Erik has no idea why T’Challa is here. He does know that the prince had captured the man responsible for the bombing, and if Zemo had let slip his involvement, there was a chance their encounter could get bloody. He’d seen the panther suit on television. Normal bullets wouldn’t stand a chance against him if T’Challa was here to fight.

The prince moves into the light and Erik sees that he is wearing a muted black tunic with gold trimmings at his throat and wrists, not the weird cat-like vibranium body suit.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” T'Challa admits softly, his gaze darting away as if ashamed.

“So this is a booty call, your highness?” Erik teases, grinning when T’Challa flinches like an agitated cat. He closes the distance between them and catches a soft whiff of roses when he pulls T’Challa into his arms, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

“It’s not funny,” The prince insists, burying his face in Erik’s shoulder and sagging against him.

“It kind of is,” Erik smoothes a hand down his spine and lets it settle over T’Challa’s ass, “you should’ve seen your face, kitten. Blushing like a virgin.”

T’Challa stiffens in his arms.

“No way, you’re a virgin, babe?” Erik blinks.

“No,” Comes the defensive reply.

“Uh-huh, whatever you say,” He murmurs, and despite their complicated relationship, there is something about the way T’Challa feels in his arms that makes Erik want to keep him there forever. It’s probably some stupid instinctive alpha reaction the scent of an unmated omega.

“So, wanna fuck, pretty thing?” Erik asks.

T’Challa gives him a highly affronted look, and the alpha shrugs. “Isn’t that what you’re here for, kitten?”

“I…” T’Challa bites his lip.

“You and I both know this won’t lead to anything,” Erik murmurs.

“It could…” The prince says, but he does not want to meet T’Challa’s hopeful gaze.

“Maybe in another life,” Erik concedes after a pause, “I mean, think about it, you’re a prince and I’m a nobody. This ain’t a Disney movie, your highness. You got your duties, I got my shit to do.”

“You are not nobody,” T'Challa insists, and Erik laughs.

“Wow, I take it back, you really are a Disney princess, with the bleeding heart and virgi—” The rest of his words are cut off by T’Challa’s mouth against his. This close, T’Challa’s scent is almost overwhelmingly strong, and Erik finds himself crowding the omega prince against the counter and kissing back on instinct.

“Erik, please,” T’Challa whispers, warm fingers settling at the nape of his neck and stroking lovingly. Erik should push the omega away while he still can, but he _doesn’t want to_ , and a part of him hates that he is not stronger than this. Without N’Jobu’s ring around his neck grounding him, Erik feels the weight lift from his aching shoulders.

 _One night,_ he promises himself and his dead father, _just one._

T’Challa kisses him again, gentle and coaxing, and Erik caves.

“Ok,” He sighs against the prince’s lips and lets instinct take over.

 

* * *

 

T’Challa draws in a sharp breath when Erik tears his shirt off to expose the expanse of scars peppered across his dark skin. The raised skin goes from his forearms all the way up to his sternum and disappears into the waistband of Erik’s loose jeans. T’Challa reaches out a hand to touch the marks on Erik’s chest before his brain can tell him otherwise.

“What are these for?” He asks as Erik gathers his dreads back with a hand. T’Challa has seen similar scars on many of the River Tribe members. For them, it is a rite of passage, of womanhood or manhood. He does not know what the scars stand for with Erik.

“All the people I put into the ground,” The American replies with his usual bluntness. The alpha shrugs and rears back off of the bed so that T’Challa can have a better look at the extensiveness of the markings. “I figured someone should remember them, ya know what I’m sayin’? Honor the worthy dead and all that shit, so I carry ‘em on my skin.”

 _It must have been insanely painful,_ T’Challa thinks, half in awe and half in horror as he traces a finger over the almost endless scars. He presses a sympathetic kiss to the hollow of Erik’s throat where the skin is unblemished.

“Wanna see how far down they go, kitten?” Erik leers down at him and says. The words come too easily, and T’Challa has a nagging suspicion that this is not the first time he’s used them on somebody in his bed. The thought tears at the soft exposed part of T’Challa’s heart and the young prince purses his lips in disapproval.

“No,” He says, feeling a little better when the word seems to catch Erik off guard.

“Aight, that’s a first,” The alpha laughs, “I’ve never gotten that response before.”

“Well, maybe you should more often,” T’Challa says loftily, crossing his arms over his chest, “all the ‘yeses’ are getting to your head, Stevens.”

“Damn, back to ‘Stevens?' Really? I’m not bringing my A-game tonight, am I?” Erik winces, but his expression is affectionate when he leans forward and says in a low rumbling purr, “that’s not the only ‘first' you are.”

“What do you mean?” T’Challa tries his best to keep his voice steady.

“You’re the first person I wanted to kiss this much,” Erik confesses.

“Why is that?” T’Challa asks, feeling his cheeks heat up at the words.

For a second, T’Challa catches a hint of trepidation and confusion in the alpha’s gaze before Erik says, “I don’t know.”

“We can find out, together,” T’Challa buries his smile against the side of Erik’s neck.

“Can we?” There is a hint of pensive melancholy in Erik’s face that T’Challa does not understand. He runs a gun-calloused finger over the curve of T’Challa’s lower lip, “so hopelessly naive, my sweet little cat.”

“I am not—” T’Challa starts to say, but the thumb dips past his lips and into his mouth, halting the words.

“You are, T’Challa,” Erik insists quietly, “the world hasn’t tried to break you like it has with me. Multiple times.” The digit in T’Challa’s mouth presses down almost painfully hard into the soft flesh of his tongue. The expression on the alpha’s face is vicious when he leans in and hisses, “so to survive, you learn to break the world back.”

Heart pounding in his chest, T’Challa relaxes his jaw and feels the pressure lift as Erik pulls back, the roiling beast beneath his skin receding with practiced ease. He smiles thinly and says, “I’m not a nice man, kitten.”

“You can be,” T’Challa says, voice a little hoarse, “there is always a choice.”

“Well, I made mine a long time ago,” Erik says briskly, running a hand over his face and exhaling irritably. “Damn, what is this? A therapy session? I thought we were gonna fuck.” The alpha eyes T’Challa, “you still up for this?”

T’Challa nods wordlessly.

_Isn’t it better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?_

He knows what he wants. Has known since he’d set eyes on Erik.

“Naive and stubborn,” Erik shakes his head, “you’re a fuckin’ menace you know that?”

 

* * *

 

The first orgasm takes T’Challa by surprise. He supposes it is the element of giving up control to someone else that is most jarring about the experience. T’Challa has touched himself before, but things feel vastly different when there is another person involved. Erik’s mustache scratches the soft silky skin of his inner thigh when the alpha spreads T’Challa's legs with firm hands and delves in to press his hot mouth over the omega’s aching sex.

T’Challa slaps a hand over his mouth when Erik’s tongue slip inside his warm wet entrance. He arches up, the muscles of his stomach clenching against the foreign pleasure. Erik’s making obscene noises, his entire lower face sopping wet from T’Challa’s slick. His legs spasm around Erik’s shoulders when he comes from the man’s mouth alone, and when Erik pulls back to wipe at his wet face with that triumphant grin, T’Challa screws his eyes shut in despair. He jumps when he feels Erik’s tongue on his belly, lapping up his release and pressing soft kisses to the quivering muscle.

“Relax, kitten,” Erik orders, taking one of his nipples into his mouth and sucking hard. T’Challa bites back the moan threatening to break free from his lips and tangles weak fingers into the alpha’s hair. He can’t help but spread his thighs when Erik reaches down again, working two finger into his wet entrance this time.

“Gonna have your tight little pussy squirtin’ nonstop for me, sweetheart,” Erik murmurs in his ear as he inserts the third finger. T’Challa chokes when he suddenly speeds up without warning. He clings to the alpha’s broad shoulders and lets out a sob when the mounting pleasure becomes too much to bear. The second orgasm hurts in a way that makes T”Challa ache for something more. He hears Erik let out a surprised laugh at the gush of slick between his trembling thighs, “goddamn, you’re like a fuckin’ fountain.”

He’s still breathing hard when the alpha straightens and says, “get on your knees.”

“What?” T’Challa blinks up at him.

Erik lifts an eyebrow, “you really need me to spell it out for you, kitten? We 'bout to fuck.”

T’Challa resists the urge to reprimand him for the crude language and says instead, “I was hoping to see your face for the first time.”

“Nah, this ain’t that kind of fuckin’,” Erik dismisses as he manhandles T’Challa onto his knees. T’Challa knows these are the terms they agreed upon, but that does not stop the rush of disappointment that comes with the words. He hangs his head and braces himself for the breach.

“Damn it,” T’Challa hears Erik growl behind him. The bed dips beside him, and he turns to find the alpha sprawled beside him with a mighty big scowl on his face, frustration radiating from every pore.

“How do you want to do it?” Erik grinds out.

“You’re letting me decide?” T’Challa asks, not believing his ears.

“Like I said, a fuckin’ menace,” Erik groans and throws an arm over his face, covering his eyes, but he does not protest when T’Challa crawls over to him and tentatively straddles his waist. He leans down to give Erik a grateful kiss, and blushing hotly, reaches down to grasp the hard heavy cock between the other man’s legs. Erik hisses when T’Challa clumsily puts the condom over him and tries to guide it to his entrance. It’s a little awkward and he misses on the first two tries, but thankfully the alpha decides to put T’Challa out of his misery and lend a helping hand. Erik is a lot bigger and longer than three fingers, and by the time T’Challa manages to take all of him inside, they’re both breathing like they’ve just finished a marathon.

“Fuck,” Erik groans, pupils blown wide. T’Challa isn’t any better off. It’s in so deep he can almost taste Erik’s cock in the back of his throat.

“Wanna start moving some time soon?” Erik prompts, and seems to immediately regret his words when T’Challa pulls up and tries to sit back down much too fast, “Jesus, it’s not a pogo stick! Slow down, you tryin’ to send me to the hospital?”

Face flaming hot, T’Challa adjusts himself and gently rolls his hips. Erik sighs and relaxes back onto the bed, “better.”

Encouraged, he braces his hands on the alpha’s muscular chest and starts riding him while Erik watches with hooded eyes. He occasionally lifts his hips up to meet T’Challa, but otherwise, Erik seems content to hand over the reins and let T’Challa set the pace. The ache in the prince's lower abdomen intensifies with every thrust, but he doesn’t notice it over the overwhelming pleasure until Erik suddenly stiffens beneath him, eyes going wide as he sniffs the air between them.

“Are you going into heat?” He asks, large hands coming to wrap around T’Challa’s waist.

The world spins and T’Challa finds himself being pressed down into the hotel sheets, Erik looming over him. He thrusts hard and T’Challa’s mouth drops open in a silent moan, the molten heat in his belly spreading down to settle between his spread thighs. Erik’s scent intensifies as a response, and they both groan when T’Challa wraps his legs tighter around the alpha’s lean waist, cants his hips up and takes him deeper.

“Move,” T’Challa breathes.

The pace Erik sets is brutal, but in the madness of heat, it doesn’t feel enough to T’Challa. He wants to be closer, wants Erik in his blood, his very being. He wants to hold the alpha close and hunt down everyone who has ever hurt Erik in the past. He wants…

“I lov—”

Erik cuts him off with a kiss, stealing the rest of the words away and leaving T’Challa even more breathless than he already is. Erik’s hands are on his hips, holding him in place with bruising force. They are close, T’Challa knows. He can feel the impending orgasm in his belly and Erik’s inflating knot is catching at his entrance with every thrust.

And it suddenly hits him that once the night ends, they are done. He will be left with nothing but an empty heart.

“Am I hurting you?” The alpha surprises him by pausing and asking. T’Challa blinks and realizes a fraction too late that he is crying. He shakes his head, but the silent tears keep coming.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” Warm hands cup his cheeks and brush away the moisture. Here in the darkness surrounded by the alpha’s comforting scent, T’Challa can pretend Erik loves him back.

“I don’t want tonight to end,” He whispers into the man’s chest, arms wrapping around his neck.

“All things come to an end,” Erik’s voice is gentle, “it’s just the way things are, sweetheart.”

“You could come home with me,” T’Challa says quietly, and feels Erik’s answering rumble of laughter against his ear.

“I could, but we both know I won’t,” Erik’s voice is firm, but when the orgasm sweeps over them and T’Challa’s teeth close over the glans at the base of his throat, the alpha does nothing to stop him.

 

* * *

 

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror stark naked, Erik tries to tell himself that the bloody set of teeth marks on his neck is still a part of his grand plan to overthrow the Wakandan royal family. But then, he’s never been particularly good at lying to himself.

The alpha touches the wound with a grimace. With T’Challa still fast asleep in the bedroom, he has some time to silently berate himself in the bathroom.

Mated.

To the son of the man he’d hated for most of his life no less.

Karma seems to have a way of fucking up Erik’s careful designs no matter how hard he tries to plan ahead.

He can feel the dull contentment radiating from their newly formed bond in the back of his mind. It feels like a pool of warm sunlight on a cold winter morning. Erik forces himself to ignore the sensation and focus on more important matters. He needs to go before the prince wakes up.

Still scowling, Erik hastily slaps a bandage over the still bleeding mark and pulls his clothes on. He makes his way to the bedroom to retrieve the duffle bag with the rest of his belonging. There are spots of dried blood on the white sheets and from where Erik is standing, he can see the equally deep set of teeth marks on T’Challa’s throat.

_Goddamn it._

Cursing himself again for the slip in judgement, Erik pulls out the handgun from his pile of clothes and sets it aside. He freezes when his fingers snag on N’Jobu’s ring. He’d forgotten about stuffing it into the bag last night. With hot shame and anger warring inside his chest, Erik shoves it roughly back inside. He doesn’t have the right to put it around his neck right now, not with the mating mark still fresh on his skin.

He has failed his father. Again.

All because of the pretty little thing lying on the bed, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

Erik eyes the gun beside his duffle. He could do it now, a single shot to the forehead. He’d have enough time to clean the scene of the crime and hack into the main computers downstairs. No one would ever know.

He takes the gun and slowly aims it at the unsuspecting form on the bed.

T’Challa sighs in his sleep, long lashes fluttering like the fragile wings of a butterfly.

Erik’s jaw clenches as he forces the gun back into the holster at his hip.

Perhaps in another world, he would have the strength to pull the trigger and end it all right here, right now.

 _Or,_ a small voice whispers in his head, _in another world, you would have taken off your clothes and climbed back into bed._

Ignoring the traitorous thought, Erik shoulders his bag and walks out of the room.

 

* * *

 

He hands in his resignation to a stunned Ed the very next day, and when Linda asks him about the bandage at his throat, Erik slams the door in her face.

“If you’re here to convince me to come back, you can save it, the answer’s no,” He says without looking up when she tracks him down three hours later on a bus to the airport.

“I know,” Linda replies lightly. Her gaze lingers on the turtleneck he’s wearing. “I thought you might need these.”

He looks down at the fake passports and the plane tickets to Tokyo she’s holding.

“How did you know?” He narrows his eyes at her.

“Don’t underestimate women, Stevens,” Linda shrugs, “You’re not the only one who graduated at a prestigious engineering school. Cal-Tech, remember?”

“How could I not?” He snorts, smiling despite himself. “So, you’re coming along?”

“Someone’s gotta look out for your ass,” She elbows him in the side.

“Thanks, Lin,” Erik murmurs, relaxing back against his seat.

“So, what are we looking for in Tokyo?” Linda asks.

Erik pulls out a faded picture from his breast pocket and hands it over. “Ulysses Klaue.”

“Arm’s dealer, by the looks of it,” Linda says, handing it back after inspecting the man in the photo. “Why him?”

"He’s our ticket to Wakanda,” Erik replies.

 

* * *

 

He does not expect Klaue to use Linda as a hostage after they bust him out of Korean holdings, but by then, Erik is so close to his goal he can almost taste it. The stunned look on T’Challa’s face is still fresh in his mind. In the explosion, his omega had not picked up on his scent.

It’s going to be a nasty surprise when T’Challa finds out.

“I’m s-sorry, Erik,” Linda gasps in Klaue’s arms. Erik meets her eyes.

“I am too,” He says and shoots her in the stomach.

“You’re fucking crazy, American,” Klaue rasps when Erik corners him and shoots out his legs from under him. “They’re never going to accept an outsider.”

“I know,” Erik replies calmly. He lifts a hand and pulls down the neck of his shirt to reveal the pale bitemark at the base of his throat. “Guess who left these, bruh.”

 

* * *

 

Everything goes according to plan. He arrives in Wakanda with Klaue’s corpse in tow.

W’Kabi’s eyes widen when Erik drops N’Jobu’s ring into his palm and says, “yeah, that’s right, your real king’s here now.”

 

* * *

 

What remaining hope dies in T’Challa’s eyes when the heavy vibranium-enforced doors open and Erik stalks into the throne room with his head held high. This close, the alpha can feel the confusion and pain emanating from their mating bond. T’Challa sways on his feet, and when the queen peers between them, Erik can see her piecing two and two together.

W’Kabi comes to a stop next to Erik.

All eyes are on him when the alpha smirks and squares his shoulders. 

 _“What’s up,_ _kitten.”_

 

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> *Sigh* I watched Creed with my bf, and now all I have in my head is boxer/delinquent Erik, and long-suffering sugar daddy T'Challa. Save me, people.


End file.
